


No More Awakenings

by BangAndBlame_Archivist



Series: No More Awakenings by Kathy Hintze [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-14
Updated: 2003-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:57:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BangAndBlame_Archivist/pseuds/BangAndBlame_Archivist
Summary: By Kathy HintzeAvon and Tarrant escape Gauda Prime, and learn something important about clones.





	No More Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Bang and Blame](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Bang_and_Blame), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Bang and Blame collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/BangAndBlame/profile).
> 
> originally published in EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN SINK #3 (multimedia; 1987)

One man stood before them. Only one out of all of Blake's people and that one still dared to defy the Federation. He held his gun ready, waiting for the guards around him to make the move which would bring an end to his life, but he was not prepared to give it up easily.

The troopers surrounding him tensed, each wondering if he would survive this meeting. The man before them seemed calm, almost as if accepting fate, and yet his dark brown eyes burned with something which frightened even the veteran sergeant.

There was a noise, a sound so slight you might almost think it imagined, but it was enough to draw the troopers' gaze from Avon. He dove for the safety of a nearby console, firing his gun as he moved. Three troopers dropped in answer to his blasts while the rest scampered for the safety of the upper deck.

"Contact the ship," the sergeant ordered. "Tell them we need more men." The man beside him nodded and leaned back to comply. He leaned a little too far back and Avon killed him with a skillfully placed shot.

'This is ridiculous,' thought the sergeant. 'One man trying to hold off thirteen, no, make that nine,' he corrected himself, 'troopers. There's no way he can get away, no way at all. He would have to be insane to believe so.'

#

Avon was thinking the same thing himself. Even if by some miracle he did manage to escape from the complex, where would he go? He had no ship, no crew, nothing. He tried to clear his mind, tried to concentrate on here and now but to no avail. The horror of the last few minutes still clung to him. He had been so wrong about everything and everyone. Blake hadn't betrayed him. He had merely been playing some ridiculous game. But why hadn't he seen that before. Before he had....

Amidst the carnage, someone groaned. A week, feeble sound. It could have come from one of his companions or from one of the guards. There was no way to tell. A sudden hope flared in Avon's mind. If one of his comrades was still alive.... He squelched the thought. He had troubles of his own to contend with. The groaning persisted, growing louder. 'Be still,' he ordered silently. 'Whoever you are, be still. There is nothing I can do for you.' As if in obedience to his command, the groaning stopped. And Avon went back to the matter at hand. Escape! He studied the area where the troopers had taken refuge. The ceiling above them appeared to be one massive slab supported by two smaller stone columns. Ah, if he could manage to knock out those columns before the troopers knew what he was about? He took careful aim and opened fire.

#

'What the hell is he firing at?' the sergeant wondered as he realized that the blasts were coming nowhere close to their position. Then there was an ominous creak, a terrible rumbling noise. As one, he and his men looked up at the ceiling above them. No one had tine to move or even to scream before the immense piece of concrete descended, crushing all beneath it.

#

Avon peered from behind the console, glancing carefully about the room. From the upper deck, there was no movement nor had he expected there to be. That slab had to be at least a foot thick and no doubt weighed several ton. No one could have survived the collapse. Satisfied he was safe for the moment, he set about the grim task of checking his companions.

Blake. He knew the answer beforehand but he had to be certain. Avon put a shaking hand to Blake's' throat. Dead. He moved on to Dayna. Dead. Soolin. Dead also. He'd taken no more than a step toward Tarrant when he heard that groaning sound again. It was coming from behind him. He pivoted slowly about.

#

Someone was lifting him. Slowly, carefully. But the movement only made the pain worse. He cried out. Gentle hands drew him up into a warm, protective embrace while a voice called to him, called his name but he did not answer. He only lay there, eyes open and staring, oblivious to all but the torment in his body.

#

Avon didn't try to move him again. There was no point. Vila was dying. The most he could do was to make him comfortable. Ease him through it. 'This time I really have killed you,' Avon thought miserably, gazing down at Vila's face. 'Not like that other time--the time on the shuttle.' He closed his eyes, trying to force the memory away, but it would not go. 'Would I really have killed him?' He had asked himself that question a thousand times since the wretched affair and still not found an answer. 'Would I have shoved him with the rest of the discarded material out the airlock?' Avon opened his eyes and sighed. 'It doesn't matter now,' he told himself grimly. 'This time, I really have killed you, Vila.'

#

Vila trembled again, his mind moving sluggishly. Dimly, he wondered if this wasn't all just a bad dream. He'd had nightmares before after over-indulging in drink. That had to be it. He was asleep aboard Scorpio and all of this was just as bad.... The pain struck him again like a white hot knife, slashing its way through his flesh. He whimpered and felt the arms about him tighten. Heard the voice soothing him. Who was holding him? Couldn't be Federation. He'd never heard of them comforting prisoners. Blake? No, Blake was dead. Avon had killed him. Who then? Curiosity forced his eyes to focus, to seek the identity of the person holding him.

The image was blurry but somehow familiar. "Avon?" he whispered, blinking his eyes to focus them better. "Avon?" The man holding him smiled and Vila managed a weak one in return. "I knew...knew if anyone could...." Pain sent his mind reeling, nearly driving him back into the darkness.

Avon tightened his grip about him, tightened it until he was sure it hurt, one pain trying vainly to combat the other. And for the moment, Avon won. "No, Vila," he said softly. "We made it, you and I, together as always."

Vila shook his head weakly. "No, Avon, not this tine." His gaze flitted about the room. "What...what about the others?" he murmured.

"Dayna, Soolin...," he made himself say it, "and Blake are dead."

"And Tarrant?" Vila asked sadly. If he was dead too, how would Avon escape from Servalan?

"I don't know," Avon answered. "I haven't checked him yet."

"Check him, Avon," Vila urged. "If he's still alive, you'll need him to get away."

"To get US away," Avon countered.

"I'm not that much of a fool." Vila smiled weakly at his companion. "My place is here...with Blake and the others. But you...you have to get away." His eyes pleaded with Avon. "You must get away, Avon. She mustn't catch you...or Tarrant if he's alive. Don't let Servalan win. Please, Avon."

How could Avon explain it to him? He didn't want to run anymore. He was tired of running, tired of watching his companions die. So very tired. "Vila...." The words died in his throat, stopped by the look on Vila's face. He nodded and gently lowered him back to the floor. "I'll check Tarrant."

Vila tilted his head, watching Avon step carefully over the bodies of their companions and the Federation dead, to kneel beside Tarrant and place a hand to his throat. Avon stiffened slightly and turned to look at Vila. "He's still alive."

Vila smiled, bringing a faint tinge of color to his pallid features. "His luck is still holding then," he murmured back. "Is he badly hurt?"

"I don't know," Avon replied, checking the younger man even as Vila asked.

Tarrant had been hit squarely in the side, the main impact of the blast absorbed by the ribs. He was bleeding but slowly and Avon was able to bind the wound tightly with a length of cloth torn from Tarrant's tunic. Except for the one wound, the rest seemed to be shock, but that could kill as easily as the wound if not properly treated. He would have to get Tarrant out of there and quickly.

Avon cleared a path through the dead back to Vila and carefully dragged Tarrant over to him.

"It looks bad," Vila commented, seeing the blood which had begun to soak through the makeshift bandage.

"He's young," Avon answered curtly. "He'll be all right."

Vila's teasing reply was cut off. The scalding knife was being twisted within him again, but this time he did not cry out. He didn't dare. The Federation night hear him and come and find Avon and Tarrant. Tears ran from his eyes as he fought against the pain but he could not prevent a whimper from escaping his lips. Almost at once, Avon was beside him, gathering him again into his arms.

"Avon..." His voice shook. "Avon, I think you should leave now. Before anyone comes."

Avon looked at him, cocking an eye. "You think?"

It was the old game they had played on board Liberator. Avon taunting him, daring him to match wits against him. And as before, Vila played his part. "I...I can think when I have to," he retorted.

"Really?" Avon asked skeptically, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Vila smiled back. "Always the stubborn one, always the...." His body shook. "I'm glad, Avon," Vila whispered as the light faded in his eyes. "So glad we're friends again." He shuddered one more time, then went limp.

Avon stared down at him. Despite all that had happened, Terminal, Malodaar, Xenon and now this, Vila had forgiven him. Forgiven him for all of it. Why? Why? He closed his eyes against the pain.

Distant firing brought him back to his senses. No doubt Federation troops coming to find out why the patrol had not reported in. Time he took Tarrant and left. Avon eased Vila's body slowly to the floor. "She will pay, Vila," he swore, rising to his feet. He looked at Blake and the others. "She will pay for all of this." He stepped over to Tarrant, took his arm and swung him over his shoulders, groaning at the younger man's weight. Then he staggered back down the corridor he and his companions had taken when they had first entered the base, back toward the shuttle hangar and Orac.

#

A scant two minutes later, a contingent of the Federation ground force under the command of Commissioner Sleer herself arrived at the control room. Servalan stalked about the room, the frown increasing on her face as she identified the dead.

"I gave orders they were to be taken alive," she cracked, turning to face the commander of the Land Assault Troops.

"And those were the orders I gave. I don't understand," the man stammered back, bewildered. He sounded so bewildered in fact that Servalan believed him.

One of his men, a field medic by his gear, knelt next to Vila and checked him. "This one's not long dead, Commissioner. The body is still warm."

"Dead is dead, Corporal." Her eyes again searched the room and came up empty. "There are two persons missing, Commander."

"Missing?" he echoed. Everywhere he looked there were corpses. Who could be missing?

"Yes," she continued. "Avon and Tarrant, they're not here."

"Perhaps they were caught in that." The commander gestured to the upper deck and the crushed bleeding forms beneath the concrete slab.

"Perhaps," Servalan conceded. But an inner sense told her that Avon was still alive and so was Tarrant. "Perhaps not. Until I know for certain, every square inch of this base is to be searched and all ships are to have a double guard posted as well. Understood?"

"Understood, Commissioner," he answered and had the communications officer pass her orders on.

"What should we do with them?" He gestured to Blake, Vila, Soolin and Dayna.

"Remove our people for proper burial." She looked thoughtfully at Vila and an idea took hold in her mind. "And bring that one along, too."

The commander looked at her, wonderingly. "And the rest?"

"The bodies are to be burned and the ashes strewn in the forest," she ordered. "I want no evidence left for the rabble to rally around."

"Yes, Commissioner." The commander was really puzzled now. There was quite a reward for Blake, dead or alive and here the Commissioner was tossing it all away. Maybe he could have Blake's body slipped on board his ship. No, he'd better forget that. The Commissioner was a pretty woman but her beauty hid a heart colder than space. No, best to do as she'd ordered.

#

Tarrant weighed more than Avon imagined. Twice he had to stop to catch his breath. But he didn't rest any longer than that. There was no telling how far into the complex the Federation had penetrated or if they were not already in command of the shuttle hangar where their ship lay. Avon looked at the unconscious pilot and earnestly thought about leaving him. After all, it had been his fault that he'd shot Blake. No, that was not quite true, he admitted to himself, and he had promised Vila. He looked at Tarrant and frowned. "You'd better be worth this," he mumbled to himself and picked him up again.

#

Servalan watched as the troopers gathered up their dead and carried them from the control room. Her eyes drifted once again over the scene. Three obstacles had been removed. 'And once Avon and Tarrant are captured,' she thought to herself, 'there will be no one standing in my way.'

Vila's body was carried past her on a litter and Servalan smiled. "Your fate is sealed, Avon," she murmured to herself, "as surely as this fool's."

#

At the entrance to the hangar bay, Avon slipped Tarrant quietly to the floor and pulled his gun. Everything seemed as it had been when they had left here but he took no chances. Cautiously, he made his way toward their ship.

A small crystalline box filled with flickering lights lay exactly where it had been left. It pulsed briefly as Avon entered. He inserted the activation key, then asked, "I take it you've not been tampered with?"

"Tampered with? Define tampering if you will. The very fact that I was left unattended in such a...."

"Never mind that now, Orac," Avon cut in. "You may disregard the destruct order I gave you earlier."

"Hmmm. I had already planned to do so," returned the computer smugly. "Such an order is in direct violation of my creator's programming."

"Did you?" Avon mused and reached over to flip a small switch which protruded from beneath Orac's seat. "I thought as much. That is why I left this on board." He took out a small black box. "Lightweight but quite effective should anyone try to remove you without first deactivating it."

"Really!" Orac was shocked. "A pressure mine?"

"Yes," Avon said with a smile. "Has there been anyone else in the area of the ship since we departed?"

"No," Orac answered. "I take it you wish me to prepare the shuttle for immediate launching?"

"Yes," he ordered. "I'll be right back."

Avon returned to the entrance, gathered up Tarrant and half-dragged, half-carried the unconscious man into the shuttle. Then he positioned him across the back seats and strapped him down.

"All right, Orac," Avon said, settling down in the pilot's seat beside the computer. "Let us leave this place."

"As you wish," replied the computer and the shuttle took off.

#

Their departure was not as quiet as Avon could have wished for as no sooner had they cleared the landing bay than two other flyers appeared behind him.

"Orac, can this ship outrun those flyers?"

"No. The other flyers appear to be pursuit craft while this is a mere reconnaissance vessel."

"Then override their programming, make them crash, make them do anything but follow us," Avon snapped.

"There is no need to raise your voice," advised Orac. "I am perfectly capable of hearing you."

Avon rested a hand on the crystal box, a grim expression on his face. "Then do as I say. Now!"

The lights flickered madly as the computer complied with Avon's orders. A scant few seconds later, the occupants of both pursuit craft found themselves flying in an interlocking circle. If they were fortunate, they might just be close enough to the ground that they could jump before the two vessels collided with each other.

Avon smiled. "I...." He glanced over his shoulder at Tarrant. "Er...we shall need a place of complete safety. Preferably as far from the base as possible. Can you locate such a place?"

"There are a number of abandoned domiciles located on the far side of the planet which offer comparative safety," reported the computer after a moment's pause.

"That is not what I requested," Avon snapped.

"Kindly do not interrupt me," retorted Orac. "I was about to add that should you not mind living underground, I believe I have found what seems to be the place requested."

"Is it far?" Avon looked back at Tarrant who was beginning to moan. In a short time, the young man would be conscious and Avon preferred to deal with that in less precarious surroundings.

"The shuttle should arrive there within thirty minutes."

"That still puts us fairly close to the base," Avon mused uneasily.

"True, but the domicile located should prove exactly as requested."

"It had better, Orac," Avon growled. "It had better."

#

Servalan glared coldly at the four men who stood before her. "Two pursuit craft and you lost him!" she snapped. "How?" The men looked at each other uncertainly. "I said how?" Servalan demanded.

"Uh, the flyers just went haywire, Commissioner," one man ventured.

"That's right, Commissioner Sleer. They started flying in circles," another man spoke up quickly.

"And there was nothing we could do to stop them," added a third.

Servalan eyed them coldly. 'Fools,' she thought. Orac must have addled their minds as well as the flyers' controls. "I want that ship found! And I will tolerate no more mistakes. Is that understood?"

They each stammered their complete understanding, then hastily left the room. Servalan stared after them a moment, then activated the comm. A female voice answered with the word, "LAB".

"Has the specimen I sent been processed yet?" she asked.

"Yes, Commissioner," a male voice confirmed.

"Good. Notify as soon as the process is completed."

"Understood. Oh, what do you wish done with the donor?"

"Cremate it," Servalan ordered.

"Yes, Commissioner."

#

"Avon, look out!" Tarrant screamed for what must have been the hundredth time. Avon spoke quietly to him, calming him until the young man slipped back into unconsciousness, then he sagged back into his chair.

After arriving at their destination, Tarrant had lapsed into delirium, shouting out warnings, reliving arguments they'd had before Gauda Prime, albeit one-sidedly, and had even broken down and cried over the death of his brother. 'How much longer was this fever going to last?' Avon wondered uneasily.

'If Tarrant should die...' He pushed the thought aside. Tarrant was young, he'd survive. He had to if they were to leave the planet. And Avon intended on leaving Gauda Prime. There was a debt that someone had to pay and he would see that it was paid even if it cost him his life. The cloth he'd been wiping Tarrant's face with needed moistening. Avon stirred himself to the task.

#

Four days later, the fever broke. Tarrant opened his eyes slowly, wondering why he wasn't dead. Something lay across his eyes, blocking his vision. He brushed it aside.

"Awake, I see. How do you feel?" Avon asked, briefly touching Tarrant's forehead.

Tarrant wasn't quite sure how to answer. Avon, in all the time he'd known him, had never extended a hand to anyone for any reason. He stared at him a moment before answering. "Stiff and sore, but I think I'll live." He surveyed their surroundings and added critically, "Where are we? I've seen better detention cells than this."

"Then perhaps you'd prefer being in one?" Avon snapped back. He was tired, tired of playing nursemaid, especially to someone who constantly argued with anything he said.

Tarrant studied his companion. Avon looked exhausted. But there was something else. Something which sent a cold chill down his spine. "Avon, where are the others?"

"As to where we are, we're in an abandoned mine some 200 miles west of Blake's base," Avon explained. Then he walked to the other side of the room, filled a glass with water and brought it back to Tarrant.

"Compared to the medical unit of Liberator or Scorpio, the shuttle's medical kit was rather limited, which no doubt accounts for your discomfort. However, drink this. The fever has left you dehydrated."

Tarrant hadn't really noticed until Avon mentioned it and gratefully downed the water. It tasted of minerals but it was cold and quenched his thirst. "Thanks."

He handed the glass back to Avon who absent-mindedly set it on an old crate serving as a table which stood next to the chair he had been sitting in. "Where are the others, Avon?" he asked again.

"The others are dead, Tarrant," Avon told him simply. He picked up the glass and refilled it for him. "Here. Drink as much as you can." Then he sat down again, contemplating his hands.

Tarrant took the glass in stunned silence. That Blake was dead, he had no doubts. Who could miss from that close? But that the others had been killed too? He couldn't believe it. "Are you sure they were dead?" Tarrant hadn't really meant to say that but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Avon raised his head and looked at him. 'Must you challenge everything I say?' he thought bitterly, but he answered all the same. "Yes. Dayna, Soolin...Blake were dead. Vila...." He closed his eyes a moment but not before Tarrant had seen something in them. "Vila was dead, too."

Grief? Was that what had been on Avon's face? There had been no sign of his grieving after Cally's death. After the escapade with Dorian, he had taken to spending more time to himself, but Tarrant had put that down to his insane desire to destroy Servalan. Now, though, perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps Avon's almost maniacal drive had been fueled by something more. Whatever it was, Tarrant knew he had to pull Avon out of it before he sank too deep, before there was nothing left to save. "So what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Do?" The question seemed to catch Avon off-guard. "For now, nothing. You are of little use until your side heals and maybe not even then." The familiar acid to his words raised Tarrant's spirits. The man had not completely cut himself off then.

"I may not be able to move about yet," Tarrant told him, "but at least I can stand my share of the watch."

"Nonsense," Avon countered. "Orac has assured me we're perfectly..." He stopped, realizing that Tarrant was offering to put aside the past, to start fresh with him if only he would meet him halfway. He looked long and appraisingly at the younger man, then said with a faint smile, "There is only the one bed."

Tarrant grinned back. "Then I'll vacate it." He sat up stiffly and tried to stand. The room suddenly spun madly and Avon had to jump to catch him before he fell.

"I thought as much," Avon muttered as he lowered the unconscious pilot back onto the bed. "Stubbornness will not help you this time, Tarrant." He settled back into his chair and contemplated his companion. 'Another follower,' Avon mused, 'reluctant perhaps but still a follower. Like Vila.' And Vila's words came into his mind. 'Don't let her win, Avon. Servalan mustn't win.'

'Don't worry, Vila,' he promised again. 'She won't win. I'll see to that.' Once Tarrant's wound had healed and he had regained his strength. He paused and admitted reluctantly that perhaps he, too, needed time to rest. But once they had... Avon smiled, leaned wearily back in the chair and slept deeply for the first time in many months.

#

"You've had a month, Commander," Servalan cracked. "An entire month to locate two men and you've failed."

"There is a lot of unchartered wilderness on this planet," the officer stammered. "And the natives are not particularly friendly."

"I'm not looking for friends," she retorted. "I want Avon and Tarrant. Alive. Do...you...understand...me?"

"Yes, Commissioner, I understand. But I will need more men."

"And you shall have them, just as soon as Space Command Headquarters sends them to me. Dismissed." She whirled around and stalked to the window. "Incompetents," Servalan exclaimed. "I'm surrounded by incompetents." The viscomm on her desk chimed. "Yes, what is it?" she snapped.

"Uh, Commissioner, you requested to know when the process was completed. It terminated as of one hour ago."

The anger left her face, replaced by anticipation. "And the result?" she purred.

"One hundred percent success," the man said proudly.

"Very good. How soon before it will be available for preparation?"

"Preliminary is already in process, Commissioner, and that should be completed within 48 hours."

"Very well, I wish to inspect it before final programming is initiated," Servalan said.

"Yes, Commissioner."

The comm went blank and Servalan smiled with a cat-like smile. "I shall catch you this time, Avon, make no mistake. I now have the perfect bait and you shall be mine before another month."

#

"All personnel should immediately return to the safety of the mine," Orac suddenly ordered, his lights flickering wildly. The two men who had been working a short distance from the entrance quickly gathered up their tools and scampered for the well-disguised opening. A few seconds later, one of them returned, picked up Orac and withdrew into the safety of the shaft.

"Patrol?" Avon inquired.

"Yes. I detect the presence of two pursuit flyers approximately 10 miles west of our position. Given their present course, they will fly over our location within a short period of time."

"Thanks for the warning," Tarrant sighed, wincing as he lowered Orac to the table.

"Tarrant, you tried to do too much today," Avon chastised.

"Only as much as you did," Tarrant replied with a grin and sank gratefully into the chair.

"Perhaps you enjoy lying on your back but don't expect me to nurse you back to health this time," Avon snapped.

Tarrant opened his mouth to answer, reconsidered and shut it. "I'm only trying to keep up my end, Avon," he murmured apologetically a few seconds later.

Avon stared at him a moment, then shook his head. "We've both been working too hard lately," he conceded. He looked at Orac and grimaced. "And the food Orac has been preparing is barely edible."

"I thoroughly agree with that," Tarrant said with a grin. "A food processor Orac is not."

"Nor was I meant to be," snapped the computer. "As I explained in the beginning, such a use of my delicate circuitry was..."

"We've heard it all before, Orac," Tarrant muttered. "Shut up."

Avon smiled at Tarrant. "Thank you, Tarrant. I was about to give him the same advice."

"Avon," Tarrant spoke up. At the other man's look, he hesitated in what he had started to say.

"Well?"

"I was just wondering about something," Tarrant went on. "Just how tired of Orac's culinary creations are you?"

Avon looked at him. "Tarrant, if you have something to say, say it. I am perfectly willing to listen to any thoughts you might have."

Tarrant nodded. This sudden openness was something which had developed between them since he'd awakened for the second time in the mine. Each man knew he needed the other to survive but it was more than that now. They depended on each other. For Avon, that was no easy concession. And while Tarrant once might have thrown that fact in his companion's face, he knew now it had been an act of petty jealousy on his part. But could he get Avon to agree on what he was thinking?

"Well, you know how Orac is always reporting the presence of Federation transport vessels?"

"Yes," Avon responded, his eyes narrowing in thought. "What about it?"

"Suppose we waylay one of those vessels, take the supplies."

"And what do we do about the Federation troops they will send to locate the missing transport?" Avon inquired.

"Look, the planet is, from what Orac has been able to find out, still largely a free world, right? You've heard the reports of outlaw activities as well as I have."

"Go on."

"Well, for all the Federation will know, some of those outlaws may have ambushed the transport."

"What about witnesses? Or do you advise that we kill everyone on board? Sometimes those transports carry civilians."

It was the first time Avon had spoken of killing anyone and the way he said it sent shivers running down Tarrant's spine. "That's easily taken care of." He turned to Orac. "Orac, are any of the transports automated?"

"A large number of the transports are automated," replied the computer.

"See?" Tarrant said with a smile. "We have Orac locate one loaded with the supplies we need, then we hijack it."

"It sounds too easy," Avon answered with a frown. "Much too easy. Don't forget, Servalan knows we have Orac. She may be expecting a move exactly like this."

"We can't just sit around and wait for something to drop into our laps, Avon," Tarrant argued. "We have to make a move some time."

"As long as the 'some time' is not Servalan's time," Avon amended. He eyed the younger man and sighed. 'I am tired of hiding,' he admitted to himself. "Very well, Tarrant. We'll try it. Orac, you will locate the next available transport which is fully automated and notify us immediately."

"Very well," Orac answered, surprising them. "It shall be a welcome relief not to tie up my circuits with such humdrub as you have been."

Avon looked at Tarrant and the two men burst into laughter.

#

Servalan waited impatiently for the arrival of her special visitor. His transport was overdue and she began to wonder if something had not gone wrong. Her finger descended on the comlink. "Michaels, has there been any word yet on the transport?"

"No, Commissioner," her aide responded.

"I want to know the instant it arrives."

"Yes, Commissioner." The comm went dead and Servalan went back to tapping her finger on the top of her desk. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones.

#

Something was indeed wrong. The transport vessel bearing her visitor had been intercepted by Avon and Tarrant. The plan had been simple. Orac had skillfully guided the ship to land within a mile of their position. After removing what they wanted, the transport would again take to the air, this time to fly to a site some 150 miles west of their position, then hurl itself into a large bog Orac had discovered which would very easily conceal the vessel from any prying eyes. Its landing, however, had been anything but smooth in the heavily forested terrain.

Tarrant was almost unhappy that the vessel had been unmanned. After a month of inactivity, he was playfully blowing open doors which could have just as easily been opened by a simple press on the panel control. Avon let him alone, finding release for himself in checking the computer log of the vessel. Food stores and replacement components had been what Orac stated its cargo to be and it had proven right. After securing a readout of the supplies, he rejoined Tarrant who had stopped before the one unopened door left on the ship.

Tarrant took aim, but Avon stopped him. "Allow me," he said casually, and touched the sensor. The door slid open and both men froze.

This cabin bore no supplies, but rather a man, a man who lay face down on the floor. He was alive but evidently in pain as muffled groans could be heard. Tarrant took a step forward, then froze as the figure slowly rolled over.

"Vila!" The cry came forcibly from Avon. Tarrant turned around and looked at him.

"You said he was dead," Tarrant said accusingly.

"He is," Avon answered, regaining control of himself. "I know he is dead."

"A...Avon?' The voice was weak but undeniably Vila's. "Avon, are you there?"

"This is some trick, Tarrant," Avon snapped, taking a step into the cabin. "Some plan of Servalan's to trap us."

"Perhaps," Tarrant replied, turning to look at the man on the floor. "Perhaps not." He knelt beside him.

The man on the floor looked up at him, blinking his eyes, focusing them on Tarrant's face. "Tarrant?" A familiar smile lit up his face. "You made it then," he cried happily. "I knew Avon wouldn't let you die."

"I'm so glad," Tarrant answered back. "Now be so good as to identify yourself."

"Identify myself?" squeaked the man. "What do you mean? Who do I look like?"

"Looks can be deceiving." Tarrant glanced back at Avon before continuing.

"More to the point, you cannot be who you appear," Avon added in a cold voice. "That man is dead."

"Avon! How can you say that? You know who I am. I'm...I'm..." His voice faltered a moment. "I'm...I'm..."

"Who?" Tarrant asked him.

The man's face grew confused, then twisted as if in pain. "I...I'm..." he repeated uncertainly.

"Who?" Tarrant repeated, grabbing the man by the shoulders.

"Please, don't," he whimpered. "I think I broke something when I fell. Please, it hurts."

Tarrant released him and stepped back to Avon's side. "If this is one of Servalan's tricks, she's planned it well. What do you want to do?"

Avon didn't answer at first. His eyes were locked on the panicking man's face, watching the way he winced as he sat up, watching the way he gingerly rubbed his side. "I'm not sure yet," he murmured at last. "Is he armed?"

"No," Tarrant reported in surprise. That was the last thing he expected Avon to ask.

"Check his injuries then." At Tarrant's startled look, he added, "If he even looks like he's going to try anything, I'll kill him."

The injured man looked up at him, fear warring with something else on his face. "Wasn't that time on the shuttle enough?"

Tarrant stared first at the man, then shifted his gaze back at his companion. Avon's gun hung limply from his fingers. His face was deathly pale. "Vila?" he whispered.

But the man who had spoken to him did not answer. Instead, he climbed back onto the bunk and lay there, whimpering and holding his side.

Tarrant examined him carefully, then stepped back. "I can't be sure, but I think he's cracked some ribs. There might even be some internal bleeding." He looked at Avon. "What are we going to do with him, Avon?"

We. Avon was thankful for that. For a moment, he had been afraid that Tarrant was going to turn on him. He considered the man lying on the bunk. He certainly looked like Vila. But Vila was dead. Therefore, this man had to be an imposter.

"Avon?" the man on the bunk croaked. "Why won't you believe me?"

Whoever the man was, he was certainly well-versed in Vila's mannerisms, Avon thought grimly. And yet he had mentioned the shuttle. No one knew of that incident, no one except Vila and himself.

"Vila Restal is dead," Avon answered flatly. "I know he is dead. I don't know who you are but you are not he." He took a step forward. "Tell me your identity and I'll see what can be done for your injuries."

"But you know who I am," the other man moaned. "I'm...I'm..." His voice trailed off and the same pained expression he'd worn before reappeared on his face.

"What's the matter with him?" Tarrant asked. "Every time he starts to tell us who he is, that happens."

Avon shook his head. "I don't know. Some form of conditioning perhaps. But I can't be certain."

"Orac could find out," Tarrant offered.

Avon looked at him and frowned. "You suggest we take this man, whoever he is, to Orac? Reveal our sanctuary?"

Before Tarrant could reply, the man on the bunk spoke again. "Avon, I...I am Vila Restal." His face became pained. "And yet, I'm not. I'm so confused. Servalan, she..." The pained expression worsened and he clutched at his head, rubbing his temples furiously, then looked up at Avon and sighed. "I am Vila, Avon. But not the man you knew."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Tarrant asked.

"Even the dead have their uses, it seems," the man murmured back, shaking his head.

"Meaning what?" Avon demanded.

"Isn't it obvious, Avon? Somehow, Servalan managed to create me or rather recreate Vila."

"A clone?" Tarrant inquired. "Impossible."

"Not impossible," Avon corrected after a moment's thought. "Even before the Clone Masters' demise, it was widely speculated that the Federation maintained such laboratory facilities as they felt necessary."

The man nodded grimly. "Exactly. And I am Vila Restal to every last detail."

"Every last detail?" Tarrant inquired. Now he was confused.

"In every way," the man confirmed with a nod.

"And as such, you acquired his gift for being 'unconditionable', is that what you are trying to say?" Avon asked.

"It appears so," the man agreed. "That's why every time I try to say I am Vila... He winced slightly. "I get a pain in the head. The conditioning didn't work." He looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" Tarrant asked. "It's not your fault."

"Avon knows what I mean," the man said back, still looking at the floor. "And you were right, Avon. I was part of a plan of Servalan's."

Avon studied him. "Was?"

"Yes, you see I was en route to her for some type of additional programming when you intercepted the shuttle. But you wrecked her whole plan now."

"What type of additional programming?" Tarrant inquired.

"What exactly, I don't know. I do know that the preliminary stuff was to locate you and Avon and then lure you back to the complex."

"And how were you to do that?" Avon asked.

"Servalan knew you had Orac. She was going to broadcast that Vila was being transferred for further interrogation to one of the new bases, leaving the way open for you and Tarrant to rescue me."

"Her plan had one great flaw," Avon advised. "Vila is dead, I know he is dead."

The man winced at the pain he saw in Avon's eyes. "Yes," he conceded. "But she thought she might be able to fool you into believing he'd only been badly wounded. That maybe he'd only seemed dead to you."

"Then Servalan is a bigger fool than I thought," Avon replied coldly. "I take it there was more to her plan?"

"Yes. I was to tell you about a hidden hangar where there's a ship," the clone continued. "Blake had a special one built and ready in case he needed it."

"An escape ship? Tarrant conjectured.

The man shook his head. "I can't imagine Blake taking off and leaving someone else to do his fighting. More likely a ship to use for recruiting."

Avon nodded agreement. "Blake would not have used it for escape, Tarrant. It wasn't his style. This ship, does it exist or was it merely part of the plan?"

"Oh, it exists all right," the clone answered, sitting up and wincing as he did so.

"The Federation found out about it from one of the prisoners. He led them to it, and then they killed him. The programmer told me about it."

"Can you lead us to it?" Tarrant asked.

Avon glanced at him with a disgusted look. "That is what he was supposed to do, Tarrant. What do you think?"

"You don't really want to go there, do you?" the man asked in a frightened voice. "I mean, you could get caught or killed."

"As there was additional programming, I don't think Servalan was yet ready to spring her trap," Avon responded. "We may be able to slip in and out before she is aware of us."

"She's got more troops out looking for you two than trees in the forest, Avon," the man protested. "You honestly don't think you could get away with it?"

Avon studied him a moment. "With your help, perhaps we can. You say you are Vila's exact copy; do you also have his skill with locks?"

The man nodded. "Yes, but..."

"Good. Tarrant, I think we shall use Servalan's little trick against her this time. Bring him."

"Back to the mine?" Tarrant asked.

"Yes. Orac will make sure there are no homing devices on him and if there are, will deactivate them."

"Avon," Tarrant said quietly, "Avon, I think you should reconsider."

"Why?"

"Think what you're doing. He's not Vila. Not in the real sense, anyway. Are you sure you're not trying to..."

"Ease my conscience?" Avon supplied, lifting en eyebrow. "Perhaps I am, Tarrant." He looked at the clone then. "Perhaps I am. Do you have any better ideas what to do with him?"

"There are really only two alternatives," the man spoke up. "The first would be to take me with you."

"And the second?" Tarrant asked.

The clone shrugged. "Kill me."

Tarrant saw Avon flinch at the words. "We could just leave you here," Tarrant suggested quickly. "Orac could send the shuttle where it would be found."

"You can't do that," the man objected.

"Why not?"

"Because," Avon explained, "as he said, he's exactly like Vila. I don't imagine it would take much to make him talk."

"Avon," the clone said quietly, "it might be better if...if you did."

"No," Avon interrupted. "I am prepared to take the chance with you." He looked at Tarrant.

Tarrant looked first at Avon, then at the clone. "Come on then," he murmured, walking to the man's side and helping him to his feet. "It's not too far."

"I hope not," the man muttered. "My side hurts something fierce. And I've a headache the size of a moon."

He continued complaining all of the way to the mine and only stopped when he got a good look at Avon's face. Avon was pale, obviously fighting to keep control of himself as Tarrant tended to the man's wounds.

"Avon," he said, "please, don't look at me like that. I'm not Vila."

"I know that," Avon snapped.

"You say that but I can see what you're thinking," he retorted gently. "Tell you what. Suppose you call me by another name. Yeah, call me Duncan. That might help, calling me by a different name and I'll change clothes, put something else on that doesn't even resemble his, okay?"

Avon didn't answer, but Tarrant did. "Fine, now hold still."

"Ow. Tarrant, your fingers are about as gentle as..."

"As what...Duncan?" he asked, trying out the name.

"Never mind. Just be more careful, huh?"

"Why did you choose the name Duncan?"

"What?" Duncan asked, surprised by Avon's question.

"I said why did you choose the name Duncan?"

"Uh, well, it seemed as good a name as any, that's all." He winced as Tarrant touched another sensitive spot.

"You're lying," Avon retorted. "Why?"

The clone sighed. "Duncan was the name of Vila's younger brother." He smiled at the surprise on Avon's face. "Vila never mentioned his family. He didn't like to talk about them. Duncan was three years his junior. Used to follow him everywhere." He stopped and his expression turned sad. "He followed him once too often."

"Captured by the Federation?" Tarrant asked, pausing in his treatment.

"No," he answered, closing his eyes. "He was killed by a Security droid."

"That should hold you for now," Tarrant muttered, finishing up. "But I wouldn't try anything strenuous for a while."

"Strenuous, me?" Duncan exclaimed.

"Get some sleep," Avon told him, rising to his feet. "Tarrant, I'd like a word with you. Outside."

#

"Do you believe him?" Avon asked.

"Do I?" Tarrant stared at him. "Do you?"

"I...I don't know for sure," Avon conceded. "I'll have Orac check his story, find out what he can."

"And if he's lying?" Tarrant asked.

Avon hesitated only a moment. "Then I shall deal with him. Any other questions?"

"No," Tarrant answered and watched silently as Avon walked back into the mine. 'Please let it be the truth,' he thought to himself. 'If Duncan's lying, there's no telling what it will do to Avon.'

#

Servalan was fuming as she summoned her aide. "Well?" she snapped.

Michaels shook his head. "Nothing. There's no trace of the shuttle anywhere. Commissioner. But I've sent men out looking for it."

"You've sent?" She looked at him questioningly. Initiative was one thing, but this? Then Servalan smiled. "Very good, very good indeed. Let us hope they find it with its cargo intact. Thank you."

The young officer saluted and hurried from the room. As soon as the door slid shut, he sank into the chair behind his desk. Never again would he try anything like that. He must have been crazy. Stili, if the men did find the transport with its cargo, it might just earn him that promotion he'd been after for so long. He glanced at the closed door. But what if... 'No,' he told himself. 'Don't even think about it.'

#

Dawn came early and with it, some rather unfamiliar odors awakened Avon and Tarrant. That and the sound of someone humming a quiet tune.

"Morning, gents," Duncan greeted them. "Woke up early and thought since I was fixing myself something, you might like some too."

Avon glanced warily at Tarrant who grinned and said, "As long as Orac didn't fix it, I'll try anything."

"Orac? You mean he's actually been doing something constructive?" Duncan asked in mock surprise. He scooped something yellowish in color onto a plate and gave it to Tarrant.

"He serves his purpose," Avon replied, eyeing the plate which was handed to him. "What is it?"

"Whatever it is, it's delicious," Tarrant mumbled after taking a bite. He looked at Avon. "Go on and try it."

Avon looked at Duncan who nodded. "It's perfectly safe, Avon," he said with a somber expression. "Here." Before Avon could intervene, he dipped his fork onto Avon's plate and came away with a small bit of the food which he quickly downed. "See."

Avon studied him, watching for any signs of distress, but there were none, either from him or from Tarrant who had already finished one plateful and was handing his plate back for another. Reluctantly, he speared a piece of the yellowish substance with his fork and put it in his mouth, preparing himself for a shock. Instead of the bitter taste he'd expected, Avon found the food to be absolutely marvelous. He glanced up and saw Duncan watching him expectantly.

"Well?" Duncan asked.

"Palatable," Avon remarked, concealing his pleasure.

"Palatable?" Duncan sounded offended, but Tarrant only chuckled.

"What is it?" Tarrant asked, accepting his refilled dish.

"Scrambled eggs, of course." At Tarrant's lack of expression, Duncan continued. "You mean you've never had scrambled eggs?"

"No, I haven't," the young man conceded. "A most unusual taste."

"That's because they're organic," Duncan told him.

"Organic?" Avon sounded surprised.

"Yes. This morning, I did a bit of scouting around and found some."

"I don't think I want to hear where you got them, Duncan," Tarrant put in quickly. "They are quite good, though." He smiled mischievously. "Aren't they, Avon?"

"They are, as I said, palatable, Tarrant," he answered in a tone which plainly told the young man not to press his luck.

As he ate, Avon took the time to study Duncan. The man had evidently located the flyer as he was now wearing an entirely different set of clothing and had combed his hair in a vain attempt to conceal his likeness to Vila. It had not succeeded, of course. One thing did surprise Avon, his willingness to actually do work. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'if I don't think too hard on it, perhaps then.'

Duncan felt Avon's eyes upon him and smiled. Avon dropped his silent scrutiny immediately. 'Damn it,' Duncan thought to himself, 'I'm trying, Avon. I'm really trying, but you have to help, too. I know it's not easy but think how I feel about it.'

As if hearing his unspoken thoughts, Avon raised his eyes again. "I congratulate you, Duncan, on a most unusual meal."

Duncan nodded and accepted back his empty plate as well as Tarrant's. "Maybe I have been missing something," Tarrant said, "not trying some of the cuisine of the lower grades."

"Eggs are not standard in the lower grades," Duncan corrected him. "In fact, I don't think they're even produced on Earth anymore or on any of the colonies. Pity. I find them quite good."

"If they're not produced any more, where did you learn about them?" Tarrant inquired.

"Oh, here and there," Duncan answered. He glanced at Avon with a worried expression on his face. "Does it really matter?"

Tarrant caught the look and nodded his understanding. "No, I guess not."

"Nutritionists probably banned them due to their unsanitary delivery system," Avon remarked dryly.

'Was that actually a joke?' Duncan wondered. He turned, carrying the dishes to the disposal area and hid the smile which lit up his face.

"I have a few things to check in the flyer, Tarrant," Avon announced and left.

Tarrant watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Duncan. "How are you feeling today?"

Duncan smiled. "It's a little sore but not too bad." He pursed his lips in thought. "How is he? Avon, I mean."

"He was getting along fine until you came along," Tarrant answered. "Now, I don't know."

"It wasn't my idea, you know," Duncan pointed out. "I didn't ask to be created."

"I know, I know," Tarrant said. "But don't you see? Your being here, it's jeopardizing his..."

"Sanity?" Duncan asked.

"Yes."

"You didn't have to agree to let me come," the clone reminded. "You could have said no and that would have been that."

"Would it?" Tarrant asked. "It would have left only one way out. To kill you. Do you think Avon would have done that?"

"Do you?"

Tarrant glared at him. "Damn it, Vil...Duncan, stop answering my questions with one."

"I'm only trying to-"

"Never mind what you're trying to do," Tarrant shot back. He forced himself to relax. "Look, Avon blames himself for all that happened. Blake, Dayna, Soolin, Vila, everything. When I came to here, you should have seen him. He looked like an animated zombie, going through the motions, answering questions but without anything inside. You know what I mean?"

Duncan nodded.

"Then you know what it will do to him if anything happens to you." He paused, trying to put what he felt into words. "I've...I've come to care about Avon, more than I thought I ever could. And I don't want to see him hurt again. Do you understand me?"

Duncan nodded again, understanding in his eyes. "Believe me, Tarrant, the last thing I want is to hurt Avon," he replied.

"I want to believe that," Tarrant answered. "I know that Vila wouldn't but you're not really him."

"No, I'm not," agreed the clone. "And I don't intend to be if I can help it. Do you have any idea what it is like for me, Tarrant? To have no real identity, to have another man's body and thoughts and yet wish to be my own self. It's a nightmare. I keep wishing I would wake up and everything would be all right. But it won't be because I'm not real. That's what is so horrible, not being real."

"I'm sorry, Duncan," Tarrant replied. "I didn't realize that clones..."

Duncan smiled sadly. "That's all right. I just wanted you to know how I felt about this."

"I appreciate your telling me," Tarrant answered. He thought a moment, then added, "Unfortunately, that still doesn't make the problem--"

"Problem? What problem?" Avon asked from the doorway.

Tarrant whirled about, uncertain how much Avon might have overheard.

"The problem of Servalan," Duncan finished smoothly.

"Leave that to me," Avon answered firmly.

"To us," Tarrant corrected.

Avon frowned slightly in disagreement, then turned his attention to elsewhere. "Duncan, you left quite a mess in your search of the flyer."

"Well, I was in a hurry," Duncan answered, relieved that for the time being everything was back to normal. "I wanted to surprise you and--"

"I realize that," Avon continued. He turned back to Tarrant. "Once the flyer is loaded, we should be able to make our move tomorrow."

"But Orac hasn't completed his check yet," Tarrant reminded him.

"What check?" Duncan asked, looking at Tarrant.

"I asked him to check out your story," Avon replied quietly.

"Oh, I see," Duncan answered calmly.

"You don't mind?" Avon inquired of the clone.

"Mind? No, I'm glad you did it," he returned. "I'd have been worried if you hadn't."

"Hmm, would you?" Avon mused. "I wonder."

"You wonder what?" Tarrant queried.

"I wonder what Servalan is doing at this moment? By now, she knows something has happened to the shuttle and to Duncan."

"So?" Duncan asked.

"So, put yourself in her place," Avon instructed. "What would you do?"

"Double the search parties," Tarrant answered for him. "Get as many men into the field as possible to find that shuttle."

"Exactly."

"But you said that Orac sent the shuttle far away from us," Duncan stated.

"Yes," Avon admitted. "But perhaps not far enough." He paused in thought. "I think the sooner we leave here, the better."

"I agree with that," Tarrant said.

"And I," Duncan added.

"Then it's unanimous," Avon announced. "We leave in the morning. Tarrant, let's get the flyer loaded."

#

"Commissioner Sleer?"

Servalan activated her comlink and stared at the face which appeared on its screen. It was Commander Wilburn, the new head of the ground forces.

"Yes, Commander. You have some information for me?" she inquired.

"Yes," he replied. "We've found the shuttle. It was lying partially submerged in a bog some three hundred fifty miles west of the base."

"A bog? Any sign of life?"

"Negative. From the looks of it, I 'd say the local contingent of cut-throats ransacked it. There was little to no food items left. The shipment of miscellaneous clothing was also reported missing."

"Hmm." Servalan was silent a moment. They had been having trouble with outlaw groups and a few scattered bands of rebels and yet... "Very well. Sweep the area and see if you can locate any of the 'local contingent'. If so, make sure one of them remains alive to be questioned."

"Yes, Commissioner." The comlink went dead.

If it were outlaws, her plan was ruined. But if it had been Avon instead, then there was still a chance that it might work. The clone, even partially conditioned, might yet prove his downfall.

#

When Tarrant and Avon came back from the flyer, it was evening and Duncan had managed to prepare another unusual meal for them. Some type of fowl stuffed with greens.

"Don't tell me," Tarrant murmured, cocking an eye. "The eggs came from these, right?"

Duncan smiled back. "Quick, aren't you?" He looked at his companions and frowned. "Well, dig in before it gets cold."

Avon cast a disgusted look at him, then sat down opposite Tarrant and studied his meal. The fragrance it gave off was quite appetizing. He glanced up and noted that Duncan had already twisted a wing off of his fowl and was chewing contentedly on it.

"I believe we have adequate tableware, Duncan," he instructed.

"Fine," Duncan answered without hesitation. "While you take the time to use them, the bird gets cold." He continued his chewing.

"Delta grades," was all that Tarrant could say as he sliced the meat from his bird.

After cleaning up the dishes, Duncan excused himself and with an admonishment for them to do the same, went off to sleep. There were only two makeshift beds and Tarrant had offered his own, but Duncan had declined, preferring to wrap himself up snugly in a couple of spare blankets.

Avon's eyes followed him. "You know, Tarrant, but for physical likenesses, Duncan and Vila are not as close as I thought."

Tarrant looked up at his remark. "I know," he agreed.

"I think perhaps I made the right choice," Avon added.

Tarrant smiled. "I think so, too." He yawned. "And I think Duncan had the right idea. I'm going to sleep. Good night."

"Good night," Avon answered and stretched out on the rough structure which was his own bed to consider their plan of escape. Again and again, he went through it, seeking any faults or weaknesses which might jeopardize their safety. Only when he was absolutely certain of its success did he relax and let sleep overtake him.

#

The next morning was not filled with the sweet smells of the prior day. Instead, Orac woke everyone with an ominous warning. "Attention. Federation flyers have been detected within four miles of the sanctuary," he announced.

"Four miles?" Duncan exclaimed, shaking off his blankets. "Will they see us?"

"They haven't before," Tarrant answered, dressing quickly and grabbing up a weapon.

"But they could, couldn't they?"

"Stop worrying, Duncan," Tarrant continued. "This mine is impenetrable. Nothing can penetrate it."

"Nothing except explosives," Avon amended. "Get down." He had moved to keep watch at the entrance, had seen the flyers skim low and caught the flash of metal as it was dropped towards the forest below.

Explosion after explosion shook the mine, raining dust and loose rocks down on the trio. Then quite suddenly it stopped. The silence was only temporary though as a loudspeaker suddenly erupted. "We have you surrounded. Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands up."

"That's it, isn't it?" Duncan asked his two companions. "Somehow they've found us."

"Finding us is one thing. Taking us alive..." Avon corrected, glancing at Tarrant. The young man nodded his assent. "Do you wish to surrender to then, Duncan?"

Duncan paled slightly, then shook his head. "No."

Then a voice called outside. A man's voice. "Don't shoot. I surrender. Please, don't shoot."

They watched in stunned silence as a man dressed in camouflage clothing moved out from concealment scarcely 20 feet from the entrance to the mine, his hands raised above his head. Black security guards swarmed around him and pushed him off towards a landing flyer. Seconds later, the rest of the men clambered on board another flyer and took off.

"What do you think of that?" Duncan asked his companions. "They weren't after us at all."

"Poor devil," Tarrant murmured sadly. "I wonder what he did."

"He was probably one of those outlaws Orac mentioned," Avon answered quietly. "His luck evidently ran out. Orac, any further activity outside?"

"Negative. All Federation personnel have left the area."

"Good. Tarrant, let's check the flyer. Duncan, warn us if Orac detects something."

"Right."

After their departure, Duncan approached Orac slowly and said, "Orac, cam you do something for me?"

"That depends," advised the computer. "If it will endanger the lives of Tarrant or Avon, I have been ordered to advise Avon immediately."

"This will not endanger them," Duncan quickly assured him. "I have something I'd like you to check out for me, that's all. Do you mind?"

"Mind? Why should I mind? It could be no more ridiculous than any of the other idiocies I've been doing lately," snapped the computer.

"Well, there's no call to get upset," Duncan chided. "I mean if I had any other way of doing it--"

"Just state your request," Orac demanded.

"Well, it's like this..." Duncan began.

#

Commissioner Sleer's disposition had changed considerably since the last time the base commander met with her. In fact, she was the very picture of patience and that sent a cold chill through him that no battle ever had. "You sent for me, CommIssIoner?" he inquired.

"Ah, yes," she purred back and gestured for him to be seated. "Please, there's no need to stand on formality, Commander."

"Thank you," he murmured, wondering when the axe was going to fall. It had on all of his predecessors.

Servalan eyed him curiously. "You appear nervous, Commander. Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" he repeated. "No, nothing, Commander."

"That is well," she purred again. "Because, you see, I've found the answer to our problem."

"You have?" He wasn't sure which problem she was talking about. The smugglers who'd been raiding the outposts, the reports of rebel activity or.

"I'm talking about Avon and Tarrant," she said stiffly when she saw the confusion in his eyes. "You remember that rebel you captured? The one from the fourth sector?"

He nodded, recalling the young man who had led his men a merry chase before finally being cornered.

"Well, it appears he was en route to locate and secure the aid of Avon and Tarrant." His eyes widened in surprise. "He knew where they were?"

"Their exact position, no," Servalan sighed. "But he and his party of rebels had narrowed their search down to the region which seemed most feasible." She pointed to a diagram on her desk. "Here."

He studied it a moment, then shook his head. "Then they were chasing their own shadows," he told her. "My men and I have been over every inch of that ground. There's nothing there. Absolutely nothing."

"Nothing your instruments could pick up," she snapped back. "Have you considered the fact that Orac could be providing them with a shield, a shield which your instruments could not penetrate?"

Clearly he hadn't as he stared first at her and then at the area marked on the diagram. "I'll get my men out there at once, Commissioner. We'll surround the entire area and comb every inch of it."

She smiled cat-like at him. "Do that, Commander. I want Avon and Tarrant my prisoners within 24 hours."

"They will be, Commissioner," the commander promised, standing up.

"You may go." The man saluted and left quickly. Servalan leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Your time has run out, Avon."

#

"Now, have you got all of that?" Duncan asked. "Of course, I have," Orac retorted.

"Good. How long is it likely to be before you find out the answer?"

The computer's lights blinked erratically a moment before he answered. "The information you require will take some time as I shall have to delve into Federation Security files."

"But you do think you will be able to find it?" Duncan said hopefully. "Of course," Orac answered smugly.

Tarrant and Avon came in then and Duncan turned quickly to greet them. "Everything all right?"

"Yes," Tarrant replied. "No sign that anyone had been near it." He looked around expectantly, then asked, "No masterpiece for breakfast today?"

Duncan shook his head. "Ran out of eggs."

"Which is just as well," Avon put in. "Any more meals like that and we'd have had to put you on a diet, Tarrant."

"Me?" Tarrant exclaimed with a laugh. "What about-"

Avon cut him off. "We can continue this at a later time. Right now, we've something else to do, remember?"

Tarrant nodded and gathered up the medical kit along with the spare weapons they'd removed from the shuttle.

"Time to go?" Duncan inquired of Avon.

"Yes," Avon answered. "The waiting is over."

#

Servalan could sense it, too, as she watched Wilburn load his men into the transport flyers. The time for confrontation was very near. "Remember," she reminded the commander, "they are to be taken alive."

"Yes, Commissioner," he replied curtly. "My men have their orders."

"See that they do," Servalan replied. "Your predecessor failed and look what happened to him."

Wilburn nodded slightly, though he was not exactly sure what had happened to the former commander. There had been a rumour of an assignment which could only be termed as suicide and that most of his men had been sent with him. Sent, it seemed, into oblivion. Well, he was not about to follow them.

"They'll be delivered to you before nightfall, Commissioner." He headed for his transport and stepped aboard.

#

With Orac effectively cloaking their flyer's approach, Avon and his party were able to land within a short distance of the base.

"So far, so good," Tarrant commented. "What next?"

"Next," Avon responded, "we have Orac disable the base communications center. When we lift off, I'd rather not have any pursuit ships waiting for us. Orac."

"All long range communications have been cut."

"Then let's be on our way," Tarrant advised. "Or is there something else we need to do?"

"I think not," Avon told him. "Duncan, you carry Orac."

#

"Commander Wilburn, sir, we've picked up something on the scanner." The technician studied the image a moment, then added, "Looks like some type of mine." He looked at his superior with a puzzled expression on his face. "I don't remember seeing it there before."

Wilburn nodded grimly. "Orac must have kept our scanners from detecting it." He scratched his head a moment, then frowned. "The question is why isn't it doing it now? Lieutenant, contact Ship 3 and have them land and investigate."

It took only a few minutes for the flyer to land, disembark its men and then invade the mine to give him his answer. "Someone was living there, sir," came the report. "But no longer."

"How long would you say they've been gone?" Wilburn asked.

"Not long," came the reply. "Perhaps two hours at the most from the body heat readings."

'Two hours,' thought Wilburn bitterly. 'In two hours, Avon and Tarrant could be anywhere.' "Notify the base," he ordered. "Advise them of our findings."

"Yes, sir."

After a moment's pause, he added, "Tell them to step up perimeter security, too."

"You don't think they'd go there, do you?" asked his aide.

"When dealing with rebels," Wilburn advised, "it's best to take no chances. Especially with these two men."

#

The trio had been walking only a short time when a voice suddenly erupted from right in front of them. "You know something, Dickens?"

"What's that, Thomson?" another asked.

"I'm bored," Thomson replied.

"So what else is new?" came the reply. "Uh, oh, here comes the CO, have to close down now."

"Right."

The second his hand left the radio, Tarrant descended on him, knocking his rifle aside and slamming the guard headfirst into the trunk of the tree.

"Compliments of the Federation," Duncan said with a smile, handing the trooper's rifle to Tarrant.

"Remind me to thank them for it," Tarrant replied.

"I shall be glad to," Avon promised. "Tie him up."

There were plenty of strong vines available which Duncan put to good use. "Trussed up tight," he commented with a grin. "He won't get out of that."

"Let's hope not," Avon said.

"Which way now?" Tarrant whispered.

"The ship is that way," Duncan replied softly.

"I'll take the point," Tarrant volunteered and disappeared into the forest. Avon followed with Duncan close behind.

#

Servalan received Wilburn's report with a grim expression. "Advise Commander Wilburn to return to base immediately," she ordered.

"Yes, Commissioner," replied her aide. "I'll advise the perimeter guards also."

"You will do nothing of the kind," Servalan snapped.

"But if Avon and Tarrant are coming here?" the aide began.

"Of course, they're coming here," she answered harshly. "Do you think they would go anywhere else?"

"But it's suicide!" exclaimed the young man.

Servalan looked at him disgustedly. "It's all part of my plan to trap them."

"Your plan, Commissioner?"

"Yes," she continued. "They will come here expecting to find a means of escape but they will find me waiting for them."

"I don't understand," the aide replied. "Surely you should wait for Commander Wilburn to--"

"Let them slip through his fingers again? Don't you understand? Avon and Tarrant are here, now, on the base somewhere."

"Then I'd better sound the alarm," he exclaimed, reaching for the switch.

"No," Servalan ordered, bringing a small pistol to bear on him. "No one is going to deprive me of my victory. No one." With that, she pressed the trigger and the young man slumped forward on his desk.

#

After some twenty minutes of walking, Avon pulled Duncan to a stop. "How much further?"

"Not too far," the clone assured him. He peered at the woods ahead. "I wonder where Tarrant's gone to?"

"Probably chasing his shadow," Avon retorted softly.

"Avon, don't say that," Duncan admonished. "He really likes you, you know. Much more than he did before."

"Does he indeed?" Avon inquired. His own feelings for the younger man had changed in the wake of what had happened. Tarrant had become more than just a follower, he'd become a close companion, one on whom he could depend.

"You know he does," Duncan returned. He looked at Avon a moment, then added, "I think you like him, too."

"You think too much," Avon snapped and a haunted expression came over his face.

'Damn,' Duncan thought to himself. 'Now I've gone and reminded him of Vila. Just when I thought he was seeing me as someone else. Damn and double damn.'

#

The armory was just a short distance from the entrance to the base and Servalan paused long enough to arm herself and to slip into a black Federation uniform. She hated the feel of it, but she also knew to walk out into the forest in her present clothing was insanity. Thus clad, she slipped from the base quietly and headed toward the one place, if the clone was still alive, he would go.

#

"Where is Tarrant?" Avon whispered in Duncan's ear.

"I don't know," the clone answered back. "Maybe he got lost."

"Maybe he was captured," Avon suggested.

"Maybe," announced another voice behind them, "he found the ship." They spun around, weapons in hand and then lowered them as Tarrant grinned mischievously at them.

"That is a good way to get yourself shot," Duncan cracked.

"Yes," Avon agreed. "You said you found the ship. How far away is it?"

"Just a short distance," Tarrant advised. "I took a look at it. Not the best, but it will serve our needs."

"I'm sure Blake would have appreciated your comments," Avon answered. He'd obviously said it without thinking as he turned very pale afterwards.

"Let's get going," Duncan urged, wanting to change the mood.

"This way," Tarrant replied, with a backward glance at Avon. He seemed to be all right, but Tarrant was worried nonetheless. He motioned Duncan forward and whispered in his ear, "Watch him." Duncan nodded and dropped back to Avon's side.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Duncan," Avon cracked.

"Of course not," Duncan returned. "But I might need some help with Orac, you know. These bushes are treacherous. I could trip and break something."

"Nothing of any value," Avon commented.

"Are you two coming?" Tarrant whispered from ahead of them.

#

Servalan knew where the ship was and wasted no time, making straight for it. There were no physical impediments save for the forest, but that was proving to be a force to deal with itself as its tightly woven bushes grabbed at her clothing. Fortunately, the body-fitting uniform offered no purchase for the thorny bushes as she pushed her way through them.

She broke cover a scant 50 yards from the ship and glanced about. Everything seemed to be quiet. Too quiet. Suddenly, she realized what was wrong. There were supposed to be two guards on duty. Where were they? Had Avon and Tarrant already been here?

Keeping to the shadows, Servalan made her way to the ship. It was still there. Near the hatch, the grass was disturbed, matted down but only in one area, suggesting only one person had been there. But had it been one of the guards or Tarrant or Avon?

#

When Avon and Duncan caught up with Tarrant, he motioned them to stop. "There's a clearing ahead we have to cross. The ship's just beyond it."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Duncan asked.

"Well, Tarrant?" Avon asked.

"When I came through before," Tarrant said hesitantly, "well, I had this feeling I was being watched."

"By whom?" Duncan inquired.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just imagining things."

"Or maybe Servalan is out there waiting for us," Avon offered.

"There's no way she could be," Duncan said. Then a movement caught his eye, a shadow where there shouldn't have been one. "Look out!" he cried, dropping Orac and knocking Avon to one side as a bright flash flew towards them. "Tarrant, did you see him?" Duncan whispered.

"It's rather hard to see anything with you lying on top of me," Tarrant retorted.

"Oh, sorry," Duncan apologized, slipping off him. He glanced over at Avon. "Avon, I didn't mean to push you so hard." There was no response. "Avon?" He crawled across the ground and gently turned Avon over.

"Tarrant," Duncan whimpered, "he's unconscious. I think he hit his head on something when he fell down."

"Wonderful," Tarrant muttered. "That leaves just you and me to deal with them."

"How do you know there's more than one?" Duncan asked.

"I don't," Tarrant advised. "I'm just assuming there is."

"You there," a voice rang out suddenly in front of them. "Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands raised."

"What are we going to do?" Duncan whispered.

"You keep him talking," Tarrant said, "while I work my way around him."

"But what if there's more than two?"

"Don't complicate matters," Tarrant shot back. "Just keep him talking."

"All right, but be careful." When Tarrant was out of sight, Duncan called out, "Uh, don't shoot, please."

"Come out where we can see you," ordered another voice some distance behind him.

"So there were two," Duncan muttered under his breath. He stood up slowly, arms raised above his head and started for the clearing. He heard a noise behind him. The other guard had come up and was checking Avon.

"Hold it right there." A guard stepped out of the bushes in front of him. "I could have sworn there were more of you. Where's your companions?"

"One of them's over here," his partner called. "Out cold."

"And the other one?"

"HERE!" Tarrant shouted, emerging from behind a tree and firing. Duncan dropped to the ground and stayed there, eyes shut. "It's all right, Duncan," Tarrant announced a few minutes later. "They're dead."

"Both of them?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking up.

"Yes," Tarrant confirmed with a chuckle.

"Took you long enough," Duncan grumbled. "They could have shot me."

Tarrant just laughed again and followed him back to where Avon lay. "Do you think he'll be all right?" Duncan asked with a worried expression.

Tarrant smiled ruefully. "He'll live but he'll have one hell of a headache when he comes round. Come on, let's get him to the ship."

#

Servalan waited for a while near the ship, concealed in shadow waiting for some sign of her quarry. They had to come, she thought to herself. They had to. The only place on the planet with ships capable of long space travel were located here on the base, It was the only logical place for them to come. It was only a matter of time.

A shot rang out in the forest, jerking her to her feet. Then two more a short time later. Had the guards intercepted them? Had they killed them? She made her way in the direction of the shots, If they had, she thought bitterly, they would wish they'd never been born.

#

"Avon has no room to talk," Duncan groaned as he helped Tarrant carry Avon into the ship. "Feels like he weighs more than both of us."

"I know what you mean," Tarrant replied, settling the unconscious man into one of the deck seats.

"Oh, damn," Duncan suddenly exclaimed, looking about.

"What?" Tarrant asked, wondering at his companion's sudden frenzied search.

"Orac!" he wailed. "What with all the excitement, I forgot all about him."

"Wonderful," Tarrant snapped. "When Avon comes to and finds that you've lost Orac-"

"I didn't lose Orac," Duncan shot back. "I just set him aside when the shooting started."

"Do you remember where you 'set him aside'?" Tarrant asked.

"Of course," Duncan answered. "Just take a minute to fetch him. Why don't you get the ship ready for lift off?"

"You have five minutes, Duncan," Tarrant warned, "and then Orac or no, I 'm leaving."

"I'm sure Avon would appreciate knowing that," Duncan called over his shoulder with a grin.

"Just get back here," Tarrant ordered.

#

"It has to be here somewhere," Duncan muttered to himself, pushing bushes aside in his search for Orac. "I know it does." His search had carried him back to the clearing where the ambush had come. Sure enough, the bodies of the two Federation guards were still there; good, he thought to himself, no one knew of their presence yet. A twig snapped some distance in front of him and he scrambled to the safety of the bushes and waited.

Even dressed as she was, Duncan recognized her. Servalan. What was she doing here? Stupid, he thought to himself. Why else would she be here but to kill Avon and Tarrant? But how had she known?

He watched as she moved to the two dead guards, knelt and examined each, then glancing warily about, slipped back into the shadows. Unfortunately, the shadow into which she moved was already occupied--by Orac.

Servalan looked around cautiously, then leaned down to touch Orac's silver case. "That was very careless of you, Avon," she purred. "Very careless indeed."

"Then that makes two of you," Duncan suddenly announced, launching himself from the bushes at her. As surprised as she was, Servalan still managed to get off a shot before he landed on her. They struggled, each trying to gain control of the gun. Servalan raked his face with her fingernails, trying to blind him but he managed to knock her hand away, at the same time bringing his knee up and shoving her off of him. The gun slipped from her fingers as she landed hard on her back and Duncan dove for it, firing as Servalan sat up.

#

Tarrant found him lying at the base of a large tree. "Duncan," he murmured, dropping to one knee beside him.

Duncan opened his eyes and tapped Orac's silver case lying beside him weakly. "Told you I knew where I left him, didn't I? Don't bother with that," he added as Tarrant started to check his wound. "She didn't miss...but then, neither did I."

"She?"

"Have a look," Duncan advised. He pointed at a black-clad figure lying face down a short distance from him.

Tarrant turned the figure over. "Servalan!" he whispered.

"She must have figured out what was going on, don't know how," Duncan murmured. "Anyway she found Orac before I did." He smiled weakly. "This time, there's no chance of resurrection for her, Tarrant. She can't hurt you or Avon ever again." He coughed then, grimacing in pain.

Tarrant hurried back to his side. "Come on, let's get you to the ship."

"No, you can't. Avon, he mustn't..." He grimaced again.

"I'm not leaving you here to die," Tarrant answered back stubbornly.

"So you'd rather take me on board and watch Avon die?" Duncan murmured back. "You know what will happen to him, Tarrant."

Tarrant nodded, grimly remembering Avon's face back in the mine when he'd first awakened.

"Orac," Duncan went on. "Left something with him. Make sure Avon knows? It's important, Tarrant, that he know."

Tarrant nodded absently. "I'll tell him, but-"

"Avon will listen," Duncan said gently. "But there's something I need from you. A promise, Tarrant."

"What?" Tarrant asked him.

Duncan's face grew contorted and tears ran down his cheeks. "I...I don't want to wake up again, Tarrant," he said in a trembling voice. Vila's voice. "Please!"

"What do you--" Tarrant started to shake his head in denial, but Duncan seized his arm tightly. "It's the only way," he pleaded. "You know it's the only way. As long as there's something left, they might try it again."

Tarrant closed his eyes, his head slumped forward in silence. Then he nodded. "All right."

"Thank you," Duncan said softly. "You haven't much time," he reminded. "I'm sure someone heard the shots. Take Orac and get going."

"Duncan, I--" Tarrant was stopped by the look on the other man's face.

"I'm not real," Duncan murmured, trying to ease his companion's pain. "I'm a dead man, a non-entity really. Try to think of it that way, Tarrant."

A commotion in the distance brought Tarrant to his feet. Voices shouting through the dark. Federation troops no doubt coming to investigate. Duncan was right, time was short. Tarrant glanced back down at him. The other man's eyes were staring blankly up at him.

"Duncan?" He put a hand to his throat. No pulse, he was dead. Tarrant drew back and adjusted the rifle to its highest setting. "I promise," he murmured softly. "No more awakenings. No more pain." He fired, the light of the blast so brilliant that it temporarily blinded him, then the glare faded. Where Duncan had lain, there was only burnt grass and a vague outline.

Tarrant then walked over to where Servalan lay, his face cold and remote. "No more escapes for you either, Servalan," he said harshly. "No more clever words or traps. This time you are dead!" He pointed the rifle and fired.

"Hey, did you see that?"

The voice made Tarrant jump. It came from very close and Tarrant quickly picked up Orac and sprinted for the safety of Blake's ship. Once inside, he glanced at Avon and saw he was still unconscious. 'It's just as well,' the young man thought to himself. The take-off was going to be very rough. He made sure Avon was secure in his seat, then strapped himself in and started the ignition sequence.

#

"What do you mean you can't find Commissioner Sleer?" Wilburn thundered.

"Just what I said," stammered the young guard. "There's been no sign of her or her aide since after your report came in."

Wilburn didn't like the sound of that. "Any report of unusual activity from the perimeter guards?"

"Nothing yet, sir, but not all of the patrols have reported in," the young man replied. "Were you expecting--" The rest of his sentence was cut off by the eruption of the transmitter.

"Base, this is Alpha."

"Go ahead, Alpha."

"Something's going on in Section 4. We're moving to--" The rest of the message was drowned out by the distant roar of an engine.

"Well, just don't stand there," the Commander snapped. "Sound the alarm."

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Another young soldier raced in then, his eyes wide with excitement. "Sir, we've just found the Commissioner's aide. He's been shot."

"Shot?" Wilburn repeated. "Any sign of the Commissioner?"

"No, sir."

"Sir, scanners indicate a ship preparing for take-off at the forest hangar," the first man reported.

"It's them," Wilburn sputtered. "It's got to be and they've got the Commissioner." He raced out down the corridor, snapping out orders as he went. "Advise all Federation ships in the area."

"Yes, sir. Their orders?"

"They're to destroy that ship," Wilburn continued.

"But the Commissioner?"

"We're all expendable," Wilburn answered grimly. "Remember that. Only the unity of the Federation counts."

The young man nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."

#

The vessel shuddered as it lifted off, streaks of red scorching her hull as arriving Federation troopers opened fire. Their shots were in vain as the craft disappeared into the sky, dwindling to a speck of bright light in seconds.

A solitary figure watched the speck for a long time, then shook his head. "Well, we've done all we can. It's up to the fleet now," he murmured to himself.

"Commander Wilburn," his communications man advised, "sir, long range base communications are out. The rebels must have sabotaged them before they escaped."

'Or Orac did,' the commander mused. 'No wonder the Federation wanted that computer so badly.'

"Sir," a young soldier called, "sir, there's something here."

The officer stirred himself and walked over to where the young soldier was standing pointing at the ground. "It looks like something was burned here," the young trooper said.

"Not something, son," the commander corrected. "Someone. See the outline." He moved a bit further to the right. "Someone there, too."

"Who do you think they were?" the young trooper asked in bewilderment.

"No way of telling now," the commander replied. "Probably we'll never know." He paused. "You know one of those outlines is rather small."

"Yes, sir, it is. Almost..."

"Almost what, son?"

"Almost like a woman's," the trooper continued.

Wilburn pursed his lips a moment in thought. It was possible. Perhaps the rebels had killed the Commissioner before leaving. But why kill her and then destroy the body? That made no sense at all. He shook his head. "Probably just the way the body fell," he answered. "At the highest setting, a rifle's blast probably distorted it."

He gazed back up at the sky a moment, then shrugged. If the Commissioner had been taken by the rebels, he would know soon enough. If not, well, perhaps assignment on Gauda Prime wouldn't be quite as bad as he first thought.

"Nothing more for us to do, son," he announced. "Let's get back to the base."

#

"Any sign of pursuit, Orac?" Tarrant inquired.

"Negative," responded the computer.

"Then we did it!"

"So it appears," Orac agreed. "However, I should point out that communications on Gauda Prime will doubtless be again operational within the next two hours and--"

"And," Tarrant continued, "we should put as much space as possible between them and us."

"Correct."

"Just what I plan to do after I have a look at Avon. Take over for me, will you?"

"Take over? In what capacity? Piloting the vessel requires little to no effort and--"

"Just keep the ship clear of any asteroids, planetary bodies, stars and oh yes, any Federation ships which might happen to get in the way, all right?"

"Very well," Orac replied grumpily. "But do not expect me to continue in such a capacity for an indefinite period of time."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tarrant chuckled back.

#

Avon opened his eyes and groaned, then lifted a hand to his head only to have it intercepted.

"Best not to touch," Tarrant cautioned, releasing his hand. "I've put a sealer on it, but you don't want to start it bleeding again."

"Yes," Avon agreed. "We're away?"

"Yes, and as far as Orac can tell, no sign of any pursuit ships."

"But not, I imagine, for long. Not when it's Servalan we're dealing with."

"Avon," Tarrant began hesitantly. He stopped as Avon's eyes suddenly swept the cabin and shot back to him.

"Where's Duncan?" His voice held a slight tremor.

"He didn't make it," Tarrant said softly. "He's dead, Avon."

Avon stared at him, nothing showing in his face. His eyes had gone blank. "He's dead?" he repeated mechanically.

"Yes," Tarrant replied, adding hurriedly, "but he didn't die alone, Avon. He killed Servalan. She's dead, Avon, this time for sure."

But Avon wasn't listening to him, he was listening to another voice, a voice telling him they were all dead now--Blake, Vila, Cally, Soolin, Dayna, all dead. Why wasn't he? Why?

Tarrant grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Avon, listen to me. Duncan left something for you. Orac has it. Do you understand me?"

Avon's eyes seemed to regain focus at his words and he gazed at Tarrant with a look of surprise. "Not all dead then?" he murmured.

"No, Avon," Tarrant comforted. "I'm here."

Avon closed his eyes a moment, then reopened them, the blankness gone. "You say...he left something with Orac?"

Tarrant was relieved at the near normalcy of his voice. "Yes. I'll fetch him."

"What is it now?" demanded the computer.

"None of that now, Orac," Tarrant warned. "Duncan said he left a message with you."

"A message?" repeated the computer. "I know of no message left."

"What?" Tarrant snapped. "He said--"

"If I might be allowed to continue," Orac interrupted. "The term 'message' refers to a specific item of information to be given to a select person or persons. The individual Duncan, however, did request my assistance on a matter which he seemed to think quite important."

"What matter?" Avon demanded, his attention now locked on the computer. "The matter of Roj Blake," returned the computer.

"Blake?" Tarrant and Avon exclaimed together.

"Yes," Orac went on. "It appears that Duncan was of the opinion that the individual on Gauda Prime was, like himself, a mere facsimile of the original person."

"You mean he thought that the Blake we met was a clone?" Tarrant asked.

"I believe that is what I said," replied the computer.

"On what grounds did he base this assumption?" Avon inquired.

"From what he told me, some remark made by the cloning technician in charge of his creation."

Avon was silent a moment, lips pursed in thought. "I take it he requested you follow up on his theory?"

"That is correct."

"And what have you found out?" Tarrant asked.

"It took a considerable amount of time to bypass the network of security codes, access the proper data banks and--"

"We're not interested in your difficulties, Orac," Avon cracked. "Did you secure the information Duncan requested?"

"Of course."

"Then let's hear it," Tarrant ordered.

"Very well. Using what little information he had given me, I was able to locate and access a file which had apparently been forgotten for nearly three and one-half years. The file was compiled by Space Commander Travis, though for what purpose i.s unknown."

"Travis?" Tarrant exclaimed.

"Yes, he and Servalan were quite chummy several years ago, before Star One," Avon commented.

"From the facts I could glean from the file, I would hazard that it was his intent to use the information stored in the file to maintain some sort of position of importance in the Star Fleet."

"Blackmail?" Tarrant murmured. "But who?"

"Servalan no doubt," Avon answered. "It appears Travis had more nerve than Blake gave him credit for."

"Apparently," Orac agreed. "Still, why that information was never made accessible to the proper authorities is unknown."

"Servalan may have found out about it," Tarrant offered.

"Possibly," Avon admitted. "But if that were so, why wasn't it removed from the Central computer?"

"An interesting question," Orac continued. "But totally irrelevant to the nature of Duncan's request."

"Orac, I am getting rather impatient," Avon advised and began tapping the crystal box lightly with his fingers.

"I only wish you to know that the source of the information may not be as reliable as thought."

"All right, consider us told. Now get on with it," Tarrant ordered.

"Very well. According to the data, on the orders of Supreme Commander Servalan and under the supervision of the Clone Masters, two life forms bearing the image of Roj Blake were created."

"Why clone Blake?" Tarrant inquired.

"There are any number of reasons," Avon replied, thinking. "Orac, do you have an approximate date as to when the clones were created?"

"Yes," answered the computer. "They came into being some 16 months after Blake's escape from captivity."

"That long ago," Avon mused. "Tell me, why did Duncan feel this information was of interest to me?"

"lt seems that the technician in charge of his creation also participated in the clone of Roj Blake while apprenticing with the Clone Masters."

Avon felt his nerves tighten. "How did he know this?"

"The technician in charge of Duncan's creation told him," Orac responded.

"Avon," Tarrant began, "you're not seriously thinking that..."

"That Servalan might have used the clone to bait her trap?" Avon finished, looking at him. He paused, considering the possibility, then sighed. "No, Tarrant, not this late in the game. It would be a million to one chance at the most. Certainly, if there had been clones of Blake roaming about the universe, Orac would have picked up some reference to them before now."

"Unless," Orac interrupted, "that information had never been recorded in a Federation computer."

"Trying to raise our hopes?" Tarrant demanded. "Our hopes?" Avon inquired, glancing at him. "All right, your hopes," Tarrant amended hastily.

"Anything is possible," Orac advised them, surprising both men with its statement.

"Anything including a computer which can make a statement like that," Avon concluded. "ln the past, I have been able to arrive at certain predictions," Orac continued.

"Of which I am well aware," Avon countered. "There's no need to continue on that subject."

"Do you wish me to finish with the report on the clones of Blake?"

"I thought you had finished," Tarrant muttered.

Orac ignored his comment and went on. "According to Federation records, one of the clones was killed a short time after creation. The other was sent to primary programming and then departed for an unknown destination. There is no further data to indicate what this destination was or the disposition of the clone; however, a careful scan of Federation records for that time period, indicate no twin sightings of Blake at any given period."

"Which means anything could have happened to it," Tarrant concluded.

"Yes," Avon conceded. "But it does make one wonder."

"A million to one odds you said, Avon," Tarrant reminded him.

"Yes," Avon repeated, and yet a tiny part of him yearned for it to be true. But how to find out for certain? "Orac, you said that Duncan believed it was a clone killed, due to something his technician said."

"That is correct," the computer replied.

"What exactly did Duncan say the man said?" Avon asked. "I want his words verbatim."

"You wish every word spoken between us?" the computer inquired.

"Yes," Avon replied.

"The narrative is quite lengthy," Orac warned.

"We don't have anything better to do," Tarrant answered after a look at Avon. "Proceed, Orac," Avon ordered.

"My technician wasn't a bad sort really," Orac began, his voice taking on a semblance of Duncan's. "But he had this problem. As soon as I was removed from the 'womb' as he called it, he began studying me with a critical eye, checking every inch of my body for what he called 'creative malformities'. Had me looking myself after using that word. I was afraid something might be missing. But after an hour or two, he seemed content and gave me some clothing to put on. I think they were his own as he smiled seeing me in them. Called me his little boy. The visicom buzzed then and Servalan was there, demanding to know my progress. The technician answered her civilly enough but I don't think he liked her one bit. The minute the screen went blank, he swore angrily, then turned back to look at me. 'They're going to use you, my boy,' he said. 'Use you to catch some brave men. Like they tried before.' He shook his head and the anger died from his face. He looked at me with a very sad expression. 'The Clone Masters taught me all life was sacred, it doesn't matter if it's artificially created or not.'

"I was rather confused by what he was saying. Memories had begun to dawn in my mind, some of them not too good, one very, very bad. I asked him what he was talking about. All he did was smile very sadly and sigh. 'Avon's the only one who can stop her, you know,' he said. 'If she gets what she wants, the real Federation is doomed.' He saw my confused look and again smiled. 'You don't understand, do you?' I shook my head.

"'A few years ago, I created life under the careful tutoring of the Clone Masters. I brought life to two men, my boy. Twins as it were of the same man. His name was Roj Blake.'

"I remember gasping as fragmented memory slid into place. Others were beginning to settle, returning to familiar notches within my brain, memories of things Vila had done. It was frightening. He saw my fear and put an arm around my shoulders in comfort. 'Memory assimilation?' he inquired. I nodded and he led me to a chair and made me sit down. 'I've heard it's unpleasant,' he said in a fatherly tone. 'But not to worry, it doesn't last long. Your donor was not an old man; I doubt if he had that many memories to impart.' I tried to smile at him but couldn't. My technician had obviously not read up on Vila Restal's file.

"More and more memories flew about in my mind, then dropped with a mental thud into place. How long it took, I'm not sure but finally everything seemed to be there, there were no more wandering thoughts. I sighed and he smiled. 'See, I told you it wouldn't take long.' I wondered just how long but then realized it couldn't have been as long as it seemed for he was standing in exactly the same place as he had been before.

"'Now there's something I need to ask you.' His eyes narrowed suddenly and I was struck by the gesture's familiarity. There had been someone Vila had known who had often given him that same look. I searched my memory for a name and it came to me. Avon, his name had been Avon.

"I remember going all tense, it was the way he'd said it that frightened me more than the way he was looking at me. What is it? I asked him. He saw my fear and the seriousness left his face. 'It's nothing to worry about, my boy,' he said. 'I just need to make sure everything is intact up there.' He pointed to my head, meaning my memories, I guess. What do you want to know? I asked, not quite able to get the queasiness in my stomach to subside. 'What is the last thing you remember?' he replied, watching for my reaction."

Tarrant glanced at Avon then and felt his nerves tighten. Avon had gone pale, but from the set look of his mouth, he was not going to let the horror of that time drag him under again.

"As I said," Orac interrupted unexpectedly, "the discussion between the clone and myself was rather extensive. Shall I proceed?"

"Yes," Avon ordered.

Tarrant had wanted to cut it off but found now that he couldn't. It might just be the one thread holding Avon from the edge. And he'd also discovered his curiosity piqued. If by some chance of fate, Blake was still alive and they could find him... The thought was not altogether a disquieting one.

"Very well," Orac replied. His voice again became Duncan's. "I felt myself begin to shake as the memory was triggered. Pain! Horrible pain, worse than I had ever known from the interrogators. And then the realization that death was very close. I felt someone near, holding me and opened my eyes.

"Avon? What was he still doing here? Why hadn't he run away? I would have if I could. Wouldn't have stayed around here! His eyes looked so strange, so desolate and yet they had changed, become soft and comforting. Comfort? Well, there had been scant of that since that shuttle affair, hadn't there? I didn't need him holding me now when it was too late and yet, I had come to realize it hadn't been his fault, just as I had come to know that he wouldn't have really killed me. I mean, how many places can a person hide on a stripped shuttle? It took awhile for me to understand that; but when I did, I realized that Avon would have continued to prowl around, calling my name until it was too late to do anything to save himself or the shuttle."

Tarrant stared at Avon unable to hide his shock. Avon had tried to kill Vila? Something had happened between the two men, that much had been clear from the manner in which they had treated each other after Malodaar, but attempted murder?

"It's quite true," Avon admitted quietly, looking down at his hands. "I did try to kill Vila; that is, I went looking for him with that in mind."

Tarrant didn't say anything in reply. What could he say under the circumstances?

But Avon kept on talking as if he had. "I honestly don't know if I would have gone through with it, had I found him." He looked up at Tarrant and shook his head. "It's part of what kept me awake night after night, haunting my dreams. I kept seeing Vila lying dead in the airlock, his eyes staring up at me in accusation and shock. And now to find that he never blamed me at all." He shook his head in disbelief.

Tarrant nodded more to himself than to Avon. "I noticed the difference in the way you two were acting toward each other but I never thought of something like that. Dayna might have or Soolin. I know I saw Soolin coming out of his cabin later, carrying a glass of something, maybe a sedative, I don't know."

"Drugs didn't help me sleep," Avon advised. "I doubt if they helped Vila."

"Shall I go on?" Orac broke in. "Or do you wish to continue your-"

"Get on with it," Tarrant cut in, thumping the computer's top with his hand. "There is no need to resort to violence," the computer snapped.

"There will be more than that if you do not continue," Avon promised.

"Very well. Kindly do not interrupt me again," Orac retorted. He took on Duncan's voice again with barely a pause. "I must have been shaking from the memory because he slipped an arm about my shoulders and held me for a few minutes. 'Better now?' he asked and I nodded. 'Sorry I had to ask that but I just wanted to see how the memory assimilation had gone. You felt his death?'

"Yes, I told him, it was horrible, horrible and yet I...he didn't die alone. There was someone with him. It seemed to make it better. I couldn't find the right words to explain it to the technician. But it didn't matter. He smiled and nodded. 'Having someone there when it counts, that can make all the difference in the world,' he told me. 'To die alone, no, that's not the way for a man to end his days.' I looked at him wondering why he said that."

"Is there much more to this?" Tarrant asked. He was worried about Avon. Afraid that if he had to endure much more of this, it might drive him back into the oblivion which had nearly claimed him twice already.

Avon caught his eyes and held them a moment. "Let him continue, Tarrant."

"Very well. The balance of our conversation dealt with the theory of probability."

"On what?" Avon asked.

"On the possibility that the person on Gauda Prime was indeed a clone," returned the computer. "Such theory being based on a comment made in parting by the cloning technician."

"And what was this comment?" Avon inquired.

"The technician told Duncan not to get himself killed. To try to escape and not get caught as his other 'boy' had and that he was sorry he'd ever been involved in the cloning of Roj Blake."

"He said nothing more?" Avon queried.

"No, such was the extent of our conversation."

"Then what you're saying is that the man we thought was Blake..." Tarrant began.

"May not have been," Orac finished.

"But why was the clone not used before now?" Tarrant asked.

"That is unknown," Orac advised. "But the statement made by the technician of his 'boy' being caught would suggest that perhaps the surviving clone of Roj Blake had escaped Federation hands at some point in time."

"A possibility," Avon conceded. "If the clone had Blake's memories, it surely would have tried to escape, especially if it were in Travis' clutches."

"ln view of the animosity between them, I would agree," the computer said.

"Then Blake may be alive," Avon murmured.

"And if he is, Avon, we'll find him," Tarrant promised.

Avon looked at Tarrant, remembering the part he had played, realizing how the younger man must feel about that. There was only one thing he could say. "Thank you."

Tarrant smiled. "All right, Orac. Put your circuits to work on this." He glanced at Avon who smiled back. "Locate Roj Blake."

"One cannot simply locate a person without having some information as to his whereabouts," the computer pointed out.

"Then find it," Avon advised. "And do it quickly."

"As you wish," Orac mumbled back.

Avon smiled again, this time with an air of anticipation. This time they were going to find Blake and it was going to be different, very different from before. And once they had, let the Federation beware!

the end


End file.
